Chipped Wood
by 815
Summary: The annoying brat would always scoot into the gates before it turned fully dark. But not this time. — Naruto


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto.

**Summary:** The annoying brat would always scoot into the gates before it turned fully dark. But not this time. ( Naruto )

* * *

You had begun to wonder.

You wanted to ask.

"_What makes you so special?"_

You could imagine that orange-wearing freak show's face when he heard the question. You could imagine those blue eyes seeming to fill with an inflow of ideas – of thoughts and feelings that would seem to combine into one mixed concoction that you would not know the name of, yet you could taste the flavor before it met your lips. You could already hear that booming annoying voice you had gotten so used to over the twelve years he had been in the village, wreaking havoc wherever he could.

His eyes were already a piercing blue – a synonym with water and sky if there ever was one – and filled with pleasure and delight and ambition. And once you would say – ask that question to him you know that they would continue to fill up – although already full – and would overflow and before you knew it you would've already been sucked into his dream, his vision of something miraculous.

So you simply never asked.

But you have thought about it.

* * *

You polish another wooden carving of yours and look it over in the morning light – the clock reading six thirty in the morning. The morning breeze blows against your hair as you set it down carefully on your work table, satisfied with the result. "He'll be pleased with this result," you say to yourself, fingering the rough sandpaper that you held within your grasp.

A sharp clang and screeching chickens whizzes through the air and you scowl in disgust as that incessant voice racks your head once more.

"I'm going to be Hokage!"

A few shouts followed this proclamation and you sigh as you examine the entrance of your shop, making sure no expensive materials were out in broad daylight as you felt the beginnings of chaos ensuing in the village.

That's what he always said, didn't he.

What he didn't know was that 50, 100 – millions.

Millions of little boys and girls were thinking the same thing.

Millions of little boys and girls were dreaming the same thing and were probably hoping – wishing that they, too, could be a strong leader like their ancestors. Strong wielders of weapons like their fathers, their mothers – anyone.

An orange blur rushes by your store, rattling a few items off their shelves – but not something that could not be replaced. But you still scowl as a group of older ninjas chase the young rascal down, causing even more items to topple from their perches and onto the dirt ground. You do your best to ignore the crack in the tea mug you had bought the day before yesterday and do your best to hold in your temper as the tea begins to seep out of the crack and onto the floor.

Millions of little boys and girls were dreaming the same thing.

He alone did not stand in that dream.

* * *

Curiosity gets the best of you.

The boy entered into the academy.

He was still the trouble maker, but you saw something different.

You see it even now.

The water, the sky begins to fill his eyes although it is already full.

Daylight springs forth and seeps back into night.

Before the sun went down he would be there.

A shadow on the horizon – the first piece of night to settle into the sunset sky.

Covered in dirt, in mud, in leaves, in scratches.

But most of all,

pride.

* * *

It had begun after a few years in the academy.

-

You see the boy walk down the street and you turn your eyes away from him.

_Monster_, you think.

He seems to not notice the distasteful aura emanating from you as he continues along his way as if it was normal. As if not being in class this time of day was something to be proud of – an accomplishment of incredulous feat that only someone of his caliber could have pulled off.

You straighten yourself up and as soon as he passes the third shop away from you, you stick your head out from the entrance of your humble abode and watch him as he walks away over the hill and through the gates of the village – not looking back even once. Perhaps the boy was leaving.

_Good!_ you think. _This is good! It'll be peaceful in this village once more._

You mutter something to yourself that you don't even know and turn back to your work, thinking that the boy is a hopeless cause.

You thought that, of course.

You didn't know.

You couldn't have possibly known then.

-

The sun begins to set.

You have not thought of that boy for some time until you begin to pack in for the night. You set your most recent works in their respective places and set custom orders to the side for easy collecting. You go to the entrance to light your lantern (so as to help travelers find their way around).

And then you see him.

At first you don't realize it.

He is just a shadow with his back to the sun.

You slide back into your shop a little (no, you weren't cowering… you were simply… simply…). A stranger? A traveler? Does the Hokage know about this? Should you tell him?

No.

Shadows flicker across the street until the sun fully sets – its orange glow clipping the mountains and the hills.

It's him.

He's smiling.

He's got dirt on him (and good heavens knows what else was on his body) and he's smiling like it's the best thing in the world –

To be covered in dirt.

And then you get that tingle in your mind… like maybe that wouldn't be such a bad feeling.

To be covered in dirt.

You watch him as he goes past you, unaware of your presence and to the ramen stand nearby. You hover at the entrance for a moment before going back to your duties and then locking up. A feeling washes through you and your fingers tingle as if you were twenty years younger – no, forty years at least! The point was, however, is this:

You haven't felt this way in a long time.

* * *

Years past.

He grows older.

Your eyes grow keener.

You notice how the lantern lights dance within his eyes, blazing up the water and sky within them in a ring of fire – one that does not damage, but lights up the spirit. You notice how he comes back dirtier each day until the shadow that stands upon the horizon does not morph back into a young boy with a few scratches here and there in the light.

He stays as a shadow.

And then you think.

"_What makes you so special?"_

But you do not ask.

You just know that he always comes back at sunset. The resentment you have grown to live with begins to break, yet you keep reminding yourself of whom he is. Who he really is.

A monster.

That questions itches at your mind.

"_What makes you so special?"_

But your lips stay fastened and do not move.

You do not ask.

You simply watch as the years go by.

You simply go about your normal routine – your mind picking up on the quickness and liveliness of your fingers.

But you do not acknowledge them.

That is, until he's gone.

* * *

He did not come back today.

He did not come back.

In fact, you stood waiting for him out on the road. An old man, yet you stood there to wait for him.

Because you wanted to ask.

"_What makes you so special?"_

But then the sun rose and light fused with the village until day returned to the sky.

And slowly, slowly you make your way back into your shop.

The day went on and rumors came about. And then you were sure that the boy was not coming back this time. They said that he would probably not come back for a long, long time and that it would most likely take more than a year. "Or it could just be a few months," some said. But an unspoken answer touched upon everyone.

_"Or it could just be that he is never coming back."_

* * *

Two years past.

He didn't return… in the dark this time.

He returned in the broad daylight.

-

It takes you awhile to remember, but once you look into his eyes you know.

He walks by your store, glances over your items.

You stumble out into the light.

"You…" you mutter. A deep breath. You feel your lungs bursting with fresh air. "What makes you so special?"

The first time you greet him is in the morning although all you were planning to ask him during the times when he always came back as the sun was setting.

The sun makes the morning dew glisten.

The boy smiles at you. He looks older.

He is older.

His eyes are connected with yours now. The water and sky that they held overflowed in a torrent and you were not swept away. No, you stood your ground as the overflowing ideas sweep over you, yet not pulling you under. All you feel are the tingling in your fingers and in your body.

"Nothing much… uh… But don't underestimate me! I'm going to be Hokage one day!"

And you are coaxed in. Not swept in. Not thrown under. Just gently.

Little by little.

You suspect this had been happening ever since you saw him come back.

"Good luck to you then."

Your words surprise the boy, but it quickly melts off.

"Hey, thanks old man."

You talked about small things with him. The weather. How Konoha had been while he was gone. Those words were fleeing but the ones which constructed the first sentence that boy had spoken to you were not.

They were not.

They stayed with you as the sky reflected the blue of his eyes.

* * *

He walks away and you go back into your shop. The work table lies in the middle of it all and slowly, but surely, you decide to move it. It takes some time but it is done and it lies under the sun and under the sky. You take your tools out and the wood you chose for the day and begin to carve.

At first it is unimpressive but as you chip away the wood it becomes a new masterpiece for someone – perhaps maybe for all who lay eyes on it – to enjoy.

**

* * *

**

**A/N.** I wanted to do another Uzumaki Naruto centered story. I used the second perspective once more and I think I pulled it off better than I did in my other stories. Perhaps I have improved? Who knows. Anyways, the ending was a little bit eh, for me, so I'll most likely edit it soon.


End file.
